


your mind, my peace

by artanogon



Category: Ender Series - Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game - All Media Types
Genre: Internal Monologue, M/M, Missing Scene, Very little dialogue, but it definitely leans towards romantic, pretty ambiguous enlai can be interpreted either way, set during command school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artanogon/pseuds/artanogon
Summary: A brief calm within the storm of Ender’s life at Command School. Ender thinks of Alai, of himself, and who they have become.
Relationships: Alai & Ender Wiggin, Alai/Ender Wiggin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	your mind, my peace

The reddened walls are twisting, or perhaps it is merely exhaustion warping his vision. He’s not slept in days and they’ve only now been given a reprieve, finally some time to themselves— but Ender knows he will not sleep tonight. The hollowness of the room and the caging caverns outside tear at him, add fuel to his nightmares where the buggers leap on him from the shadowy hollows at the edges of his room and vivisect him, tearing their mandibles through the thin membrane of his lungs. 

He runs his hands over his head, fingers catching in the long strands of tangled hair that now go uncut. He can’t stop thinking. If he had his desk, perhaps he’d have something to do, but they took it because they were afraid of the mind game, afraid that it showed him the hive queen. Afraid of what it would do to Ender, but as a tool, not as a person. He’s not a person at all in their eyes. 

Ender finally settles from his pacing and sits with his back to the headboard, sliding his eyes closed against the blinding light pounding down on him from above. He is so, so tired— and so afraid. Fear lurks around him constantly now. It makes him lonely and angry, makes him isolate himself even when he could now see the others. 

Is that why he won’t see them? Because he is too afraid to see how his soldiers have been worn to shadows? Maybe he is ashamed for driving them to this point. Perhaps they don’t want to see him at all. He wouldn’t blame them, he would be bitter too if he had to endure the whip at his back from someone who was once his friend. 

(Then again, hasn’t he? Aren’t Graff and Mazer just like that? Or were they ever his friends in the first place?) 

A sharp series of knocks sound at his door, startling Ender from his brooding. He wouldn’t be surprised now if it were Mazer, come to bring news of another battle after all. Of course they wouldn’t be given a break. He stands up and reluctantly moves to the door. 

To his surprise, when he opens it, there is Alai. There are dark circles under his eyes and his smile is weary, but it is Alai. 

“Can I come in?” he asks. Ender is too surprised to do anything but nod, but then again, he doesn’t really need to say anything. He often doesn’t. 

They sit on the bed together and Ender curls into Alai’s side almost without thinking about it, their hands finding each other’s— an old remnant of their battle school life. They sit there atop the covers until the lights go out and all sounds outside fade away. The silence is easy, comfortable. There is contentment here that exists nowhere else. 

That night, once they lay under the thin blankets in the dark, Ender tells him about the mind game. There is a trembling in his voice as he speaks of what he saw, what it might mean, the fear he felt. This wound is personal, raw and open and so hard to speak of. Ender just hopes he can trust his friend with it. Alai listens to him, doesn’t interrupt, never comments at all. But when Ender has talked until his voice is hoarse and there are no more words to be found, Alai takes his hand again and kisses his knuckles, pulling him close. For the first time that night, he speaks. 

“Thank you. For telling me.”

Alai’s eyes shine in the blackness of the small room. Even in the dim lighting, Ender can still catch the traces of deep, rich brown. A smile touches the corner of Alai’s lip, and Ender cannot help but stare and want, as he always does. He watches from afar, even when they are so close there are only inches between their faces. 

Alai is untouchable, in a way. There is some innate goodness in him, shining so pure and bright at his core. When Ender sees him in these intimate moments, when he catches a flash of Alai tilting his head back in laughter, Ender thinks he understands holiness. It is brilliant purity and old cares worn into young eyes, the compassion that gives way for nothing. He’s watched Alai pray at sunrise, listened to Alai softly recite the Qu’ran when he thinks no one is listening. It seems a beautiful faith, beautiful in Alai’s unerring devotion, in salaam and these deep, quiet moments when he is most vulnerable. 

Perhaps Alai will tell him more of Islam someday. Ender would like to know what it is like to feel so sound in something. 

There is a soft touch against his face and Ender comes back to himself. Alai is watching him, fingers soft yet electric against Ender’s cheek. “What’re you thinking about?” 

He would have just said ‘what’ once, when grammar didn’t matter and everyone talked that way. They’re losing the carefree slang of battle school, they talk like soldiers now. They talk like adults. The world measures their growth in numbers and height and the years that have passed, but here in these details, it is apparent that there is no going back. They are not who they were. 

Perhaps it would be better if they did not have to grow up at all. 

“You,” he says simply, and it is the truth. “Us.”

Alai gives a contented hum, then nestles against Ender’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Ender gives a tired sigh of his own and pulls the blankets up to their chins to close out that dark night, to keep away the dread of the days that follow. He does not know how many more battles he can endure, how many more sleepless nights, how many more fights among his jeesh that once stood together. 

“Go to sleep,” Alai murmurs against his arm. Ender turns into his warmth, letting his eyes slide closed. They have been given this night, this peace. That is enough. 

“Alai?” 

His friend’s voice is thick with drowsiness when he answers. “Yeah?”

There are a thousand things he could say right now, but three words push at his tongue, begging to be said. Ender pushes them aside. He cannot bear the pain that even such a sweet truth would bring— because what if he lost Alai, what then? But what if Alai never heard them? What if they parted and Alai believed Ender never felt anything for him at all?

“I love you.” The words come out in a tight whisper, heavy with anticipation. Ender waits, but there is no response. 

Alai is already asleep.


End file.
